The Start of a Beautiful Friendship
by KayValo87
Summary: Everything has a beginning ...
1. The Plan

As requested ...

Here is the story behind this: I was watching the show and started thinking about how mismatched the team is. To the best of my knowledge, military units do not often include both officers and enlisted personal.

 _So how did a group like the A-Team come together?_

That plot bunny led me down a winding trail and I ended up with what you are about to read.

This first chapter is dedicated to Tripidydoodah for encouraging me to post.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I am neither old enough to have created The A-Team or rich enough to own it.

Enjoy ...

* * *

Lt. Colonel John "Hannibal" Smith puffed his cigar as he surveyed the map in front of him. The Vietcong had been gaining territory at an alarming rate and, if they weren't stopped soon, their bases and field hospitals would be overrun. The only trouble was, how do you stop an army with home-field advantage? That jungle was so think, they could be right on top of the enemy and not even know it.

"It can't be done," Lt. Colonel Dixon stated, circling a spot on the map with his finger. "The VK are spread all through this area. It would take hundreds of men to push them back, and that's assuming we can even find them."

He was right about that, if they planned to use traditional warfare. However, as the enemy was not playing by those rules, Hannibal saw no reason why they should have to. Moving his gaze away from the front lines, he quickly found a solution.

"An army moves on its stomach," Hannibal pointed out, indicating a road with his cigar. "If we can cut their supply lines, we can slow them down, at least long enough to get our M.A.S.H. units back a safe distance."

"And how do you plan to do that, Smith?" Dixon challenged. "You bring troops in there, they will be picked off before they ever reach the road!"

"Then we don't follow the road," he reasoned. "A small team can use the river to take out the bridges."

"Seems a little risky," Colonel Morrison commented. "That river is pretty deep inside enemy territory."

"With all due respect, Sir," Hannibal replied, "risky is all we have left."

"It's suicide," Dixon stated firmly," and I won't have any of my men risking their necks on such an insane plan."

"Okay," Hannibal shrugged. "I'll find my own … with your permission, sir."

Morrison hesitated, eyes still on the map. He was a good leader and strategist, so it was likely that he was mentally calculating the risk of failure against the death toll they were facing if they did nothing. In the end, his commanding officer let out a sigh.

"I can't order anyone to go in there, not with that much risk."

"You won't have to, Sir," Hannibal promised him. "A three-man team can do the job and I know where I can get a couple of volunteers."

"Alright," Morrison relented. "I'll give you whatever support I can, but I won't send in a platoon if you get in hot water."

"Understood. Thank you, sir."

With the meeting dismissed, Hannibal headed out of the building. He hadn't gone more than two steps before Major Fisher was right beside him. A good friend for many years, Fisher was sure to give him the support and honesty that their friendship required.

"Hannibal, you are out of your ever-loving mind."

Well, at least he had the honesty down.

"Fisher, we don't have a choice here. Either we take out their bridges or they take out our hospitals."

"By 'we,' I hope you aren't talking about me."

Hannibal gave his friend a smile as he clapped him on the shoulder and shook his head. Fisher may be a good and loyal friend, as well as a phenomenal strategist, but stealthy he was not. This job called for both finesse and power, two things the man was lacking in. However, if the officer's club gossip was to be believed, there was one place he might be able to find exactly what he was looking for …

* * *

To be continued ... tomorrow.

In the meantime, feedback is always appreciated.


	2. The Men

As promised, part 2.

This was a fun thing to write and makes the title slightly ironic. (You'll see what I mean soon.)

This chapter is dedicated to TheRebelPilot for giving me the first review of this story. (Thanks! It really made my day.)

Enjoy ...

* * *

Sargent Bosco "B.A." Baracus was in trouble. He had known it the second his fist made contact with that Major's jaw that his military career was over. How was he ever going to explain to his mom that he was kicked out of the Army for assaulting an officer? Of course, she shouldn't be surprised. The only reason she was okay with him joining the army in the first place was to make sure he stayed away from the gangs that plagued his neighborhood. After he put a couple of thugs in the hospital, he was lucky to get in the military at all; he could have wound up in prison! Now it didn't matter. Bars here weren't all that different from bars over there.

"This is really great," the man in the cell next to him ranted. "I work my butt of to get an officer's commission only to wind up here. You know this is all your fault."

"My fault!" B.A. snarled. "Hey, man, you in here because you stole Colonel Dixon's brandy."

"It was more like a loan, and I wouldn't have been caught if you hadn't knocked that Major onto my table. What were you doing in the officer's mess anyway?"

It was true, an enlisted man – like him – wasn't allowed in the officer's areas. Still, he had to try and clear his name. That accident report said that he had messed up the steering in one of the jeeps during his last tune up, causing it to go off the road. If anything was messed up, it was the Major! The man had been so drunk that night he couldn't steer a tricycle down a straight line, but it wasn't _his_ name that was being dragged through the mud.

"He called me a liar!" B.A. snapped.

"And that's a good reason to ruin _my_ life and career?"

"What career? The way I hear it, you just a clerk!"

"Administrative Assistant, and I wouldn't be throwing stones if I were you, _mechanic_."

"There ain't nothing wrong with being a mechanic."

"I see, and how about using double negatives?"

B.A. reached through the bars with a growl, grabbing the irritating pretty boy by the front of his shirt and pulling him as close as he could. If he was already going down for fighting, then another punch or two wouldn't make any difference. In fact, it might even make him feel better about being shipped home.

"Well, I'm glad to see the two of you are acquainted," a new voice chimed in.

B.A. turned his head to see a Lt. Colonel smiling at him with two files tucked under his arm. He didn't know the guy, but word around the motor pool was that he was one crazy dude, always coming up with some way or another to outsmart the enemy with everything from empty shells to rubber bands. There was one thing the Sergeant had to give him credit for: the man always came through in the end.

"Sir, please tell me you are here to bring me to a court martial … or maybe even a firing squad," the man in the other cell grunted, his face still pressed against the bars.

"No, Lieutenant Peck, I just came to make you and Sergeant Baracus here an offer."

"What kind of offer?" BA demanded, thinking about how much the man's smile reminded him of the loan sharks back in Chicago.

"The kind that will wipe your record clean."

"What's the catch?" Peck asked, as if reading BA's mind.

"I need two volunteers for a mission north of here …"

While he didn't sugar coat the fact that it was a borderline suicide mission, BA was in the second he found out that three M.A.S.H. units were in the path of the Vietcong forces. His buddy Tyler was in one of those hospitals, after taking a bullet for him while on patrol. The same information won over Peck. Maybe he wasn't such a weak pencil pusher after all …

* * *

So, how many of you imagined that Face and BA would have spent time in the brig? (Or is that just me?)

Let me know what you think and I'll post chapter 3 on my next lunch break.


	3. The Problem

And then there were three ...

This one was more of a challenge to write, as I was trying to keep each section roughly the same length, but I think it turned out okay.

This chapter is for Tardis11 for bringing up a very good point in their last review: _Where is the fourth member of the A-Team?_ ;)

Enjoy ...

* * *

Lieutenant Templeton "Faceman" Peck looked over the maps of their target area with a growing sense of dread. Sure, he had agreed to this mission, and not just to keep the brandy incident off his record. He had dated three of the nurses at the field hospital closest to the Vietcong lines. Now he may not have been that serious about a relationship with any of them, but he wasn't about to stand around while they got overrun. However, his act of chivalry was proving to be a little more trouble than he had anticipated – even for a suicide mission.

"The first bridge is 40 clicks from our position," he reported to the Colonel. "You do know that is almost 25 miles, right?"

"If it was easy, anyone could do it."

While he was not entirely sure what Smith meant by that, he just accepted that the man was as crazy as everyone said and went back to the task at hand. Colonel Morrison had supplied them with enough explosives to take out an aircraft carrier and it was his job to divide that up between three bridges while Baracus patched together some remote detonators. Typical army. They could give you all the dynamite you can ask for, but not the right equipment to set it off. If Smith's plan was to work, they would have to blow all the bridges simultaneously – no room for error.

"Colonel," Face started, bundling sticks of dynamite together, "say this works … how are we getting out? I mean, even downstream, the river will be crawling with Vietcong."

"Then we just have to move faster than they do."

It wasn't exactly the answer he was going for, but at least it was an answer – sort of. All talking was stopped a moment later when their boat drifted across enemy lines. Disguised as fishermen, they shouldn't attract too much attention – one would hope. Luck was on their side and they managed to reach the first of the bridges. Face kept watch while Smith and Baracus slipped under the water. For several agonizing minutes, he waited for a patrol to come by, but no one came. This was repeated at the second and third bridges without incident. How were they this lucky this deep into enemy territory?

"Colonel," Baracus reported as Smith came up for air. "We got incoming."

 _Thought too soon._

Face could see them moving through the brush: at least thirty Vietcong soldiers heading for the bridge they just wired. He looked to the Colonel, but the expression on Smith's face gave him a bad feeling about what was about to happen. And things had been going so well! With silent understanding, they moved a safe distance from the bridge and Face pulled out the detonator. The explosion was deafening as the bridge splintered before their eyes. The echoes of the other two told them they had succeeded, but also sealed off their only escape. With the enemy closing in, Smith got on the radio and requested air support. However, as soon as he gave their location, all hopes of a rescue went up in smoke.

"You are more than fifteen miles deeper into enemy territory than you are supposed to be," Lt. Colonel Dixion's voice informed them. "I cannot risk any of my men getting shot down to pull you out."

"Put Morrison on," Smith ordered.

"Morrison is not available," Dixon replied. "I'm in charge, you deal with me."

Before Smith could say anything in return, a new voice came over the line identifying himself as a medivac chopper and promising a pick up within five minutes. Dixon tried to order him back, but the pilot – over a clear channel – reported radio failure. The man might be insane – flying into a firefight with no weapons to speak of – but since crazy had done well so far, Face was willing to take a chance …

* * *

I don't suppose I need to tell you who is coming to the rescue, huh?

One more chapter to go. Feedback is always appreciated. :)


	4. The Solution

Hey, sorry this was late. (I had so much stuff going on at school, I forgot to post it until I got home.)

Here is the final installment. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this.

This chapter is dedicated to my neices and nephews (Wyatt, 13, Genevieve, 11, Danika, 9, and Garrett, 7) who like Murdock best of all.

Enjoy ...

* * *

Captain H.M. "Howling Mad" Murdock kept a sharp eye on the river below him. He could see debris floating across the water long before he saw the burned-out shells that were once bridges. That was going to make a few people up North angry. Only thing was, where were the guys that made them go boom? Gunfire coming his way gave the pilot an idea that he was close, but the men were too well camouflaged to spot from the air.

"Come on, guys," he muttered to himself. "Give me a target."

A flash of red caught his eye and H.M. circled around to hover over the flare's last position. It was a little tricky with the trees so close, but he managed to lower down just above the water. Three sets of arms latched on to his skids and he spared a quick look to make sure they were on his side and not the enemy. Once satisfied that no Vietcong were bumming a ride, he lifted off as quickly as possible.

"Hey!" one of the men yelled. "You think you could wait until we're _in_ the chopper!"

"Nope!" he called back, guiding them out of range of the gunfire.

He didn't know what they were complaining about. They all had good grips – or at least none of them let go. One managed to crawl inside and help the other two up, so it was all okay in the end.

"How long until we reach camp?" someone called from the back.

"ETA, four minutes," H.M. replied. "Are you Colonel Smith?"

"That's right."

"It's an honor to have you in my bird, Sir."

He had heard a lot about Colonel Smith, especially from the evac pilots. As a medivac, he got close to the front lines, but nowhere near as close as this guy. It seemed the Lt. Colonel had a habit of jumping into the fire, though he rarely got burned.

"That was quite a stunt you pulled back there," one of the colonel's companions commented. "What's your name, Captain?"

"H.M."

"What's that stand for," the third man asked gruffly.

"I'll tell you on the ground."

He could feel the nerves raising in the section behind him, but decided to ignore it. The way the big guy was white knuckling the seat, he was going to have permanent marks in it. But, better the seat than his neck – and he wasn't about to tell his nickname to a guy that size while they were still in the air. Nope, he would wait until they were on solid ground and had an open space to run, if needed. Something about his name just rubbed people the wrong way. Go figure.

"Thank you for flying Medivac airlines," H.M. stated, as he shut down the chopper upon landing. "Please return your seats to the upright position and make sure all your tray tables are properly stowed."

"This guy is crazy," he heard the big guy mutter as they climbed out.

"Yeah, but sometimes crazy works; look at the colonel" the second man replied, before thanking him for the pick up. "I didn't know a helicopter could fit in that tight of a space."

"A helicopter can fit just about anywhere, so long as 'Howling Mad' Murdock is at the controls," Colonel Morrison stated, coming up to meet them.

H.M. beamed at the compliment, choosing to ignore the way the color drained from the faces of his passengers – well, two of his passengers; Colonel Smith just laughed. Their commanding officer commended all of them on a job well done. H.M. thanked him and was about to head back to his bird when Smith asked him to wait. It seemed the Colonel and his team were needed on another mission and there was only one person he trusted to fly them in.

* * *

THE END

I love it when a story comes together. ;)

I hope you enjoyed my take on how the team was form. Feedback is always welcome and I do take requests. (I may work them into one of the other half dozen stories I am writing on the side.)


End file.
